


Hell and Fury

by gothclark



Category: Hellblazer, Supernatural
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2010-09-07
Updated: 2010-09-07
Packaged: 2017-10-11 14:21:55
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 16,833
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/113337
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/gothclark/pseuds/gothclark
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Sam tried everything to get his brother back from Hell. Including a Brit his father labeled dangerous and Bobby warned him about.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Hell and Fury

**Author's Note:**

> I'd like to thank my wonderful beta readers lola, danceswithgary and alee who all helped make this story much better than it could have been without them.
> 
> Disclaimer: Supernatural belongs to Eric Kripke and John Constantine belongs to DC Comics. No infringement is intended and no profit is made.
> 
> Spoilers: Supernatural up to end of season three and hints of season four. Hellblazer all issues.

The engine ticked. Sam Winchester sat slumped in the driver's seat of the Impala. He'd always thought of the car as Dean's and even now, weeks after burying his brother, Sam couldn't imagine anyone else driving the thing. He slept in it most nights and whispered good night to a man who was no longer there.

Sam unscrewed the cap of the flask and placed the mouth to his lips. There was barely a drop of JD left, but he hunkered down and upended the flask and placed that drop on his tongue. He would have to break down and buy more tomorrow, which meant human contact. That was something he avoided at all costs these days. Bobby had called him more than a dozen times to check on him. At first Sam had answered the calls with snide replies to his questions about how he was doing ranging from, 'like shit' to 'fuck off.' That last one Sam had regretted from the moment the words had left his mouth. Luckily, Bobby understood. Bobby knew better than anyone what Sam was going through.

Tonight it would have to be a bar. Sam needed to get shit-faced right this second, but before that particular mission he needed to get something out of their father's shed. Sam stepped out of the car and rubbed his hands together. It was chilly tonight. Sam closed the door and walked around the car. The storage shed was just around the corner. He stopped just short. The door was ajar. Sam yanked the gun from his belt and thumbed the safety, glancing around the area. There was no movement in sight and the eerie silent was broken by a sudden crash and a voice from inside. Sam moved forward without a sound, nudged the doorway open with his free hand, and aimed the gun at a shadow.

"Do not fucking move," Sam said, barely containing his anger at the intrusion. Whoever had broken into their father's secret stash was about to have their brains splattered all over the concrete. Sam was in no mood for discussion. His trigger finger itched to blow something away.

A dim light went on, revealing the shape as a man. Sam could just make out a blond head of hair and the smoke of a lit cigarette.

"Put that thing away, mate," said a voice with a distinct British accent.

Sam moved forward smoothly and placed the gun on the man's forehead, anger blazing in his chest.

"You better have a good explanation for why you're here, or I'm going to have a serious mess to clean up," Sam growled.

The man smirked. He actually smirked though his eyes were wide and trained upward on the gun at his head. He placed the cigarette to his mouth and took a long drag.

"At least let me finish my fag before you have a look at my brains," he said.

Sam thumbed the hammer and pressed the barrel harder against the man's forehead, asking once again, "Why are you here?" His finger twitched and the anger bubbling up inside grew stronger. The cocky son of a bitch was going to get his head blown off and he was making jokes? "Who the fuck are you, 'mate'?" Sam moved in closer, towering over the guy, who was still puffing away on his cigarette. He reached out and snatched it from the man's fingers and threw it to the ground, mashing it beneath his boot heel.

"You must be Dean," the man said, looking up at Sam. Sam could just make out in the dim light that he had blue eyes that held too much amusement, considering the situation.

Without hesitation, Sam punched the man in the jaw, knocking him sideways and to the floor. Sam reached behind him and snapped the light on. The room flooded with light, and shadows danced in the far corners. Blinking in the sudden glare, Sam could make out that the man looked to be in his forties. His blond hair was short and spiky on top. He wore a suit with a tie and a beige trench coat. He looked more like some Wall Street jerk than an intruder.

"I guess that means you're Sam then," the man said as he wiped blood from the corner of his mouth. "That was uncalled for." He pushed himself off the concrete and stood, brushing at his coat. Sam knew he couldn't be demon-possessed or he wouldn't have gotten into the room, and he'd noticed that the lock hadn't been broken. The stranger leaned forward and held out his hand. "John Constantine," he said as an introduction. When Sam refused to shake, Constantine glanced around the room and turned his back on Sam.

"What the Hell are you doing in here and how did you get in?" Sam asked. He still had the gun trained on the man, though Constantine didn't seem the least bit concerned. He did, however, turn and raise his eyebrows.

"Put that away, would you?" he suggested. "You're either going to shoot me or not and I'm guessing not." Constantine bent at the waist and snatched something up from the floor. It was a flashlight and he smacked it against his hand in an attempt to get the thing to work. The light didn't go on. "Bugger. It's bloody well gone for." He slipped it into his coat pocket and turned back to Sam, who was still holding the gun on him.

"Answer my question," Sam said.

Constantine eyed the gun, and Sam thumbed the hammer and lowered the weapon. It was obvious that whoever this guy was, he knew something about the Winchesters. He knew his name and Dean's and he knew about the locker.

"Jesus wept," Constantine muttered under his breath. "I'm a friend, that's who." He walked over to the shelf that contained elaborate boxes. Sam glanced at them, looking around the room for the first time since his solitary visit there with Dean following Bella's foray into theft. Constantine reached into his jacket and pulled out a pack of cigarettes.

"Mind if I smoke?" he asked and lit the cigarette before Sam could reply.

"Why are you here?"

"I was adding to the trinkets," Constantine said, motioning to his left. Sam looked in that direction, but couldn't be sure if this guy was telling the truth. After all, it wasn't as though Sam had memorized the contents of the room. He'd thought about doing an inventory, but then things had gotten busy.

Constantine leaned against a table and puffed on his cigarette. He stared up at Sam until Sam looked away. Constantine walked over to a shelf and tapped a middle finger on a box. It was black and about the size of a jack-in-the-box.

"You were breaking in to put something here?" Sam asked. They eyed each other for a long moment. "Was it something you originally stole?"

"Nope," Constantine said, walking towards the door. He glanced over his shoulder at Sam and smiled. "John, the other John, your old man, gave me these," Constantine said holding up a set of keys. Constantine winked and tucked the keys back in his pocket. "I was in a hurry and needed a place to store that."

"What is it?" Sam said, walking over to the box. He reached for it. How was he supposed to know if Constantine was telling the truth? Sam couldn't recall his father, or anyone he knew for that matter, ever mentioning this man. He would have to check Dad's journal the next chance he got to see if he'd talked at all about John Constantine. If Constantine had managed to secure some dangerous unknown object inside that box, he was a player.

"I wouldn't do that if I were you," Constantine called out. "It's best to leave now. Could you give a bloke a lift?"

Sam glared at the man and stepped away from the shelf to walk past Constantine. There was no time now to look for the pages Bobby had said were here. He'd have to come back for them another day when he wasn't so distracted.

Sam stopped in the doorway and motioned for Constantine to follow. There was no way he was letting the guy out of his sight. The moment Sam got back to his motel room, he was doing some research. He'd even call Bobby if needed.

Sam followed Constantine outside and snapped the lock back into place. He tugged on it a few times to be sure it was secured properly and, when he turned around, he found Constantine leaning against Dean's car.

Sam stalked over to the car and glared at the man. Constantine smirked and stepped away from the driver's side door. A loud crash echoed in the distance. Constantine tossed his cigarette to the ground and suddenly rushed to the other side of the car.

"Get in," he ordered Sam.

Sam turned in the direction of the sound and saw light flare in the darkness down the alleyway.

"Open the bloody door now," Constantine urged, yanking on the handle.

"What is it?" Sam asked as he pulled the keys from his pants pocket. He fumbled them and they fell out of his hand, landing in a muddy puddle at his feet.

"Oh, bloody hell!" Constantine groaned with obvious frustration. "Get this door open or you'll find out first hand what that is."

When Sam stood up straight from picking up the keys, the sound had moved closer. He could see a large dark shape moving toward them. Sam rushed to get the right key in the lock and almost dropped them again. When he finally unlocked the car, he slid in and reached across to unlock the door for Constantine. Constantine jumped in as Sam started the engine.

"Go, go now," Constantine urged as he buckled up. Sam put the car in gear. Something grazed the rear end as Sam put his foot on the gas and floored it. The car lurched for a second and Sam's heart hammered in his chest when they broke free from whatever had gotten hold of them. They tore down the alleyway, hitting sixty before they'd even reached the end of the street. Sam spun the wheel and steered them left in the opposite direction of his motel. If the thing that was on their tail followed them and somehow managed to catch up, there was no way Sam was going to lead it to where he was staying.

Sam drove, weaving his way through the dark streets. Constantine sat quietly beside him, one arm slung across the headrest, and the other pressed against the door.

"Explain to me what that thing was back there," Sam finally said after they had put some distance between them and whatever had been on the bumper.

"A demon," Constantine said much too casually. "What, you've never seen one before?"

Sam slowed down. If that had been a demon, there was no way a human, even one possessed by a demon, could have followed the car. He'd floored it all the way and, since Constantine didn't seem concerned, there was no reason to put any more stress on the car than was necessary.

"She won't have followed," Constantine said, as if he knew what Sam had been thinking.

"Why not?" Sam asked as he stopped at an intersection and turned right. He needed to get back to the motel as soon as possible. Hopefully, Bobby could shed some light on all that had happened.

"Because she's probably trying at this moment to get inside that lockup," Constantine said.

Sam stopped the car and stared at the man. Something told him that he wasn't going to like the answer to his next question.

"What did you put in that box?"

"Her unborn offspring," Constantine said.

"Isn't that going to make her angry?" Sam asked. What he'd thought was going to be an easy night, had turned into a nightmare. Who the fuck was this guy and why was he here in Sam's car? He should have left him back at the storage locker.

"Maybe, but she'll never get to it. I've seen to that," Constantine said. Somehow that sentence did not inspire confidence. Sam felt the urge to pull over and toss Constantine out the door, leaving the man to find his own way, but he held back. It was obvious Constantine knew something about demons. Maybe he knew something that could help Sam.

*

Everything was where Sam had left it before he'd gone out. The motel room was dark and quiet. Sam flicked the light switch and dropped his jacket on the bed. Constantine stood at the open door and stared at the non-smoking sign. Sam slotted his dead cell phone in the charger and sat at the small table and opened the lid of his laptop. As soon as the wireless connected, he opened up a browser. He'd call Bobby later. Right now, he wasn't in the mood to talk to the man. He'd only have to endure a lecture or Bobby's concern.

"Right then," Constantine said still standing by the doorway. Sam barely noticed as the man closed the door and walked up to the table. Sam could see his beige trench coat in his peripheral vision, but chose to ignore him. It wasn't until Constantine reached for his father's journal that Sam leapt up from his seat and pushed the man back. Constantine managed to stay on his feet.

"Don't touch my stuff," Sam said, snatching the journal from the table. He let it fall open in his hand and thumbed through the pages.

"I'm probably in there somewhere," Constantine said as he pulled a cigarette pack from his coat pocket. Sam gave him a warning look and pointed at the door.

"You can step outside for that," Sam said. This wasn't worth the hassle. Even if this man had known his father, Sam was starting to lose interest in who he was and what he knew.

After a long silence, Constantine left the room and closed the door behind him. Sam sighed with relief. He wouldn't have to deal with another person. He looked down at the journal and walked backwards to sit down on the soft mattress. After flipping through a few pages, Sam rolled his neck until it popped softly. He was tense all over. Sam reached up and rubbed his shoulder. That was when he spotted the name written in his father's journal.

Constantine: helped with hex to rid boy of demon. Magus who knows more about demons than any man I've ever met. Has been to Hell and back.

Sam sat up straight. A sudden knock at the door startled him. He jumped up and rushed forward to yank the door wide open. He knew he should have been more cautious, but his head was swimming with what he'd just read. John Constantine stood in the doorway, staring up at Sam with wide blue eyes.

"Give a bloke a break, would you?" he said.

Sam reached out and grabbed hold of the collar of Constantine's trench coat and yanked him inside, shutting the door behind him. He turned to face Constantine, towering over the man. Constantine stood his ground, and tilted his head up to stare at Sam. There was no way Sam was backing down or would be the first to avert his eyes.

"You've been to Hell," Sam finally said.

"Several times," Constantine said. "Where's your old man?"

"Dead," Sam said, gritting his teeth. If this man knew the way to Hell, he could help get Dean back. Sam felt a sudden wave of hope where none had been. There was no way Sam was going to let Constantine out of his sight now.

Constantine looked away, and Sam relaxed, his shoulders sagging.

"I'm sorry to hear that, kid," Constantine finally said, swiping a hand across his face. He scratched at the stubble on his chin. "Look, I've got no place to sleep and since you've already got this..."

"You can stay here with me," Sam said, holding his hand up to stop Constantine in mid-sentence.

"You're a good kid," Constantine said. He sat down on the bed and fell back with a deep sigh. Sam moved forward once again, towering over the sprawled man.

"You can stay here as long as you stop calling me kid," Sam said, nudging Constantine's knee with his leg.

Constantine closed his eyes and nodded.

"Sorry 'bout that." Constantine replied, sitting up. Sam stepped back to give him some room.

"Have we met before?" Sam asked. Maybe having a companion wasn't such a bad idea after all.

"Never," Constantine said, standing. He removed his trench coat and set it down on the bed, yanking at the knot in his tie until it was loose. "John was rather protective of you and your brother." Constantine stopped. "Where is Dean?"

"In Hell," Sam said. He cleared his throat and glanced away from Constantine's intense blue stare. Hearing his brother's name spoken aloud by the stranger reopened the wound and Sam didn't want to have to explain the last year of his life. Just the thought, made him want to scream. He could feel the anger and frustration of the last few months building in his chest.

Constantine's shoulders slumped, and he suddenly looking as tired as Sam felt. He reached up and placed a hand on Sam's shoulder, and urged him to sit down on the bed before sitting down beside him.

"Tell me everything, and we'll sort it all out," Constantine said. At first they sat in silence, Sam unsure where to begin. His throat felt raw and his chest hurt at the thought of talking about that day when the Hellhound had come for Dean. The image of his brother's shredded body was imprinted in Sam's head permanently. He hadn't gone a single night since without having nightmares about Dean screaming in Hell, begging Sam to get him out. Every moment that went by, every tick of the clock, Sam knew that Dean was in Hell suffering whatever torment demons could dream of, and Sam had imagined what those could be.

Constantine rubbed Sam's shoulder, pulling him from his tormenting thoughts. Sam glanced sideways at the man and cleared his throat.

"Dean sold his soul to save me and went to Hell," Sam started to say.

"I know how that goes, mate," Constantine said.

There was another long pause and Sam could hear the sound of a car alarm go off in the distance.

"There's no need to say more," Constantine said. He lowered his hand and glanced up when another car alarm, this one closer, went off outside. "Bloody hell," he muttered under his breath. He stood and walked to the window, pushing the curtain aside. Sam joined him, and they both looked outside. It was dark and nothing was moving, even in the distance.

"What is it?" Sam said, suddenly on edge. It seemed that Constantine was just as paranoid as him. Constantine shook his head and leaned against the wall. Sam was suddenly aware of how close together they stood. He'd been so used to always stepping inside Dean's personal space that sometimes he had a hard time breaking himself of that habit. To make matters worse, Constantine kind of smelled like he hadn't showered in a few days, not to mention the strong, bitter tang of cigarette smoke. He took a step back, and tucked his hands in his back pockets.

"Nothing," Constantine finally said. "Mind if I use the bath?" he asked, pointing a thumb at the bathroom door.

"What about what we were talking about?" Sam asked as Constantine walked over to the bathroom. Constantine turned and looked over his shoulder at Sam.

"I can help, Samuel," Constantine said. "We should both get some rest first. I'm knackered, and in dire need of a thorough cleaning. We'll talk in the morning."

Relieved that Constantine had given him an out, Sam didn't argue. Instead, he sat down on the bed while Constantine disappeared in the bathroom. Sam lay down, resting his head on the pillow. He heard the shower start and closed his eyes just to rest for a second while he waited for his turn.

Sam startled awake. The room was quiet and dark. He must have fallen asleep while waiting for Constantine to finish cleaning up. He rolled over and stopped when he felt the warmth of a body next to him. Constantine was asleep on the bed beside him, his back to Sam. When Constantine rolled onto his back, Sam shifted away to give him space. The bed was more than large enough for the two of them, but Sam still felt a small twinge of resentment that he'd just presumed to sleep beside Sam.

Not that there was any place else for Constantine to sleep. It was just annoying. Sam yawned and stretched his legs, and his feet dangled off the end of the bed. He shifted to lie on his side and settled in to get some more sleep. The soft breathing of the man beside him was distracting at first. Sam opened his eyes and, by the dim light, he could see soft pale lashes against Constantine's cheeks. Up close, Sam could smell the slight scent of shaving cream. The bastard must have used Sam's stuff. He really was presumptuous. Sam took a deep breath. There wasn't anything he could do about it now. In the morning, they would have to get Constantine his own supplies.

Sam closed his eyes again and dreamed the breathing beside him was someone else.

*

The next morning, Sam took his time in the shower. He finished shaving and brushed his teeth while Constantine was out having a smoke. Sam had made it clear that smoking in the car would not be tolerated. Constantine would have to indulge his filthy habit outside when they stopped for food or gas. Sam packed his toiletries in his case and then stuffed it in his duffel. Constantine was still out of the room when Sam hoisted the strap over his shoulder. He double-checked that he hadn't forgotten anything, slipping a pack of matches with the motel logo printed on them in his pocket. Those could come in handy.

"We should hit the road," Sam said as he closed the motel door behind him. Constantine stared out at the dim morning, obviously lost in thought. Sam watched him for a moment, noting how he absently puffed the cigarette. In this light, he could see that Constantine was a handsome man despite his age.

Sam snapped out of his own contemplation, and moved to the car to store his duffel in the back seat while Constantine checked them out of the motel. They both got in the car and Sam tore out of the lot, glad to leave that place behind.

Sam hadn't even thought to call Bobby until they stopped at a gas station to fill up. As he filled the tank, he pulled his fully charged phone from his pocket, glanced up to grimace at the "no cell phones near pumps" sign, and then tucked the phone back in his pocket. Constantine had played nice and followed all the rules. He stood now just outside the pump's safe zone, puffing away at a cigarette like he was in love with the thing. Sam shook his head in distaste. He'd never understood the appeal, but watching Constantine blow rings of smoke was almost hypnotic. Sam was amazed when the man blew one after another, the second ring passing through the first. Constantine turned to look at Sam as though he'd sensed Sam watching, and Sam could have sworn the man winked. When Constantine finished his first cigarette, he lit another with the still-smoldering end. Sam shook his head and finished pumping. He screwed the gas cap back on and went inside to pay the attendant.

When Sam came out, Constantine still stood away from the pumps, smoking as he watched the town's traffic. They were in a small town and it looked just like any other small town Sam had passed through. Right across from the gas station was a small diner. Sam could see through the glass windows that the lunch crowd had come and gone, if there was even a lunch crowd in a town this small. There weren't that many people on the streets and the few men that did walk past ignored Sam.

Sam flipped his cell phone open and dialed Bobby's number.

"Boy, you finally found the time to call," Bobby said when he picked up the line.

"Yeah, Bobby, sorry about that. I just need some time to myself," Sam said watching as Constantine flicked his cigarette away.

"I understand, Sammy," Bobby said, using the nickname only Dean had ever used. It would normally bother Sam, but now he didn't mind. Dean wasn't here.

"Listen, have you ever heard of a man named Constantine?" Sam asked.

"You mean, John Constantine?" Bobby said with a surprised tone in his voice.

"Yeah, Dad never talked about him, but there's this entry in his journal...."

"Sam, listen to me. I know what it says, but do not try to contact that man. He is a heavy player and not someone you want to be messin' with. Do you hear me? Don't even think about trying. The only thing he was ever good at was gettin' people killed."

Sam looked over at the man in the beige trench coat. He didn't look dangerous. To Sam, he just looked like a middle aged man with a boring sense of fashion.

"Are you listening to me, Sam?" Bobby said more forcefully. "He's nothing but a con artist."

"Yeah, Bobby, I'm listening," Sam said. "Hey, I gotta go," he said after a long pause.

"I have a lead on Lilith," Bobby blurted before Sam could hang up. "That's what I was trying to contact you about."

Sam took down the information and promised to be careful. When he hung up the phone, he noticed that Constantine was standing by the passenger door of the car, rifling through his coat pockets. Constantine claimed he could help Sam get Dean out of Hell. Despite Bobby's warnings, there was no way Sam was going to give up that chance even if it was a long shot, or a con or something that would get Sam killed.

"Let's get going," Sam said with a smile as he approached the car, and they both got in without a word. Once they were back on the road, Sam swung through the first drive-thru they passed. He was amused by Constantine's linguistic quirks, asking for chips when he meant French fries, and then asking if they could swing a pint of ale. While they ate on the side of the road, Sam contemplated his conversation with Bobby once more. Maybe he should have heeded Bobby's warning and left Constantine back at the gas station, but Sam knew that he couldn't have. He wanted to believe that Constantine could help. He needed to believe. Feeling better that he'd at least called Bobby, Sam settled back in behind the wheel, uncertain where he was headed.

"So, tell me everything," Constantine said, after a few miles of driving in silence.

"Everything?" Sam asked, unsure exactly what Constantine meant by everything. Did he want to hear about how Sam had demon blood dripped into his mouth as a baby? Was Sam ready to tell a virtual stranger the life stories of the Winchester clan? His knee-jerk reaction was to keep a tight lip about as much as possible, while still giving the man enough information so that he could help.

"Well, surely not everything," Constantine disagreed. "I don't need to know how often your mum changed your nappies when you were a wee tot." Constantine smirked at Sam, obviously joking.

"Right," Sam said, turning his concentration to the road. For some reason, he didn't want to look the man in the eyes right now. Beyond the fact that he was driving and needed to watch the road, he found Constantine's gaze too intense and sometimes uncomfortable, though he was not going to admit that to anyone.

"My brother, Dean," Sam started, clearing his throat.

"Maybe you could pull over," Constantine suggested. "I'm in need of a good puff."

Sam nodded, liking the idea. He looked for the first opportunity to park on the side of the road, someplace where they wouldn't be seen by passing traffic. That moment didn't come for a few miles, as Sam drove, Constantine kept his gaze on him, making Sam even more uncomfortable. What did he really know about the guy? Sam suddenly wondered if bringing Constantine with him was the smart thing to do. Would Dean have trusted Constantine? Would Dean have believed him? Constantine had saved Sam from whatever that thing had been, but it might not have even gone after Sam if not for Constantine. Maybe Sam should have listened to Bobby. He must have had a good reason to warn Sam away from Constantine.

At times like this, Sam ached even more for his brother's presence.

They found an old abandoned overgrown road and Sam pulled in, stopping a couple hundred feet from the road, where Sam could no longer see the actual highway, but could still hear traffic as it passed. If anyone spotted them, they would need a heads up. As soon as Constantine was out, he lit a cigarette and blew a few smoke rings with a deep sigh. He walked behind the car and sat against the trunk.

"Those will kill you," Sam said, getting out and walking around the car to join Constantine.

"Probably," Constantine said, staring at the lit cigarette. He took a few more drags before snuffing it out in the muddy tire tracks. Sam looked down and noted that the tracks looked recent. Maybe this road wasn't as abandoned as he thought.

"So you knew our dad," Sam said, kicking at a muddy clump.

Constantine nodded and lit a second cigarette. The heavy acrid smell of smoke filled Sam's lungs and he coughed a few times in his hand when a gust of wind blew some of the tendrils in Sam's direction. Constantine lowered the cigarette and placed his hand on the chrome of the car. He stared down, caressing the car.

"I did," Constantine said. "We met under unusual circumstances." Sam waited, but Constantine didn't seem willing to elaborate. "We hit it off right away," he finally added after a long silence.

"Really," Sam said doubtful. "When was that?"

"Back in '88."

June 1988

The story in the paper mentioned Kelly's as the last known location for the man who had gone missing. John Winchester walked up to the bar, scoping the place out as he leaned against the wood finish. He motioned to the lady behind the bar and held up two fingers. She acknowledged his presence with a nod and slowly made her way over to him.

"I'll have a whiskey," John said over the din of the chatter and the music coming from the speakers. He turned his back to her and glanced quickly around the bar. Almost every table was taken, which was no surprise considering it was a Friday night. John made note of a few odd patrons who struck him as misplaced. The man sitting alone in the far corner seemed to be watching the entrance, and another man in a trench coat and suit kept looking in that man's direction. The man in the trench coat looked all wrong for this crowd. John reached for his drink without looking at the glass, and downed it in one gulp.

"I've never seen you in here," the bartender said, her voice close to his ear. John glanced out of the corner of his eye to note that she had leaned in to be heard. He turned his head slightly toward her, but kept his eye on the man in the trench coat.

"This is my first time," John said as she refilled his glass. She mouthed the words 'on the house' and winked.

"You'll like Kelly's," she said. John stood up straight when the man in the corner watching the door stood and drained the rest of his beer. He shrugged into a leather bomber jacket and moved toward the entrance.

"Is that a fact," John said, his eyes following the man across the bar. John turned to smile his most winning smile at her, the one he always used to get people to do what he wanted. Mary always said that his smile could tempt any woman, living or dead. "Tell me. Were you working the night Bill Casey went missing?" he asked, leaning closer, losing sight of the man. He'd stopped just short of the entrance and stood by the pay phone, seemingly undecided as to what to do next.

"I was," she said.

John stroked the three-day growth on his upper lip and smiled again.

"He say anything to you that struck you as odd or out of place?" John asked. She poured him another shot and leaned in closer to him.

"Nope," she said.

John caught movement out of the corner of his eye and turned to see that the man in the trench coat had also gotten up. The leather jacket man had vanished and trench coat was headed for the door. John pushed off the bar and barely acknowledged the bartender calling out to him.

When he got to the door, he caught a glimpse of beige vanishing around a corner behind the building. John rushed forward, his hand on the gun in his pocket. If this turned out to be something out of the ordinary, he would probably regret the choice of bringing only the regular gun, but right now he had to get to that man before he caught up with his prey. John swung around the corner, gun drawn, and came face to face with his adversary. He'd managed to keep the element of surprise. The man in the trench coat fell back against the wall with his arms in the air.

"You've got me," he said with a distinct British accent. John shoved the barrel of the gun in the man's face and pinned him against the wall.

"You're damn right I got you, you son of a bitch," John said. He should have seen this sooner. Now he realized that this man had been at all the scenes. He remembered this guy watching from the sidelines as the second victim had been taken away in the ambulance.

"You might want to lower that," the man said, eyes going down to the gun. "Those things make me nervous."

"Right, guns make you nervous." John pushed harder, shoving his arm against the man's throat, if he even was a man, and pressing down on his windpipe. The man lifted his chin in an attempt to escape the choke hold. "Tell me what you were doing following that man."

The man grabbed John's arm with one hand and yanked in an attempt to break free, but John was much stronger. He pressed harder and relished the choking sound his efforts produced. They struggled for a moment before John finally relented and eased up on the man's throat to allow enough air in his windpipe for him to answer the question.

"You wouldn't believe me if I told you, squire," the man replied.

"Try me," John said, pulling back more. He was sure if the man tried to run that John could easily catch him again. If not, then there was always the option of shooting him in the back, but first he'd need to be sure. "I can believe a lot of things."

The man straightened his trench coat and quirked his lips.

"That bloke I was following just happens to be a demon," he said. The answer didn't surprise John, but it seemed as though the man was expecting that reaction. He'd have to wait a long time because John had already tangled with a few demon-possessed souls and he knew what that entailed. After a long pause, the man cleared his throat and shrugged his shoulders.

"How do I know you're not the one possessed?" John asked. He pulled out the flask from his inner coat pocket and unscrewed the cap. Before the man could move or say a word, John splashed the holy water in his face. When nothing unusual happened, John stepped back and lowered his weapon.

"I suppose that was holy water," the man said. He swiped at his face to get the water out of his eyes. John put the safety on and tucked the gun away. "I wouldn't put that away just yet," the man said.

A loud scream filled the air and John was pushed forward into the man. They both tumbled to the ground, the flask falling from John's hand. He fumbled for his gun, his fingers suddenly feeling useless, but was yanked from the man and flung across the parking lot before he could get hold of his weapon. John landed on his left leg at an odd angle. Pain shot through his entire body, and for a second, John couldn't breathe as the wind was knocked out of him. He sat up and saw the demon-possessed man turn his attention to the man in the trench coat. He punched the man across the face twice and grabbed him by the throat. The man in the trench coat crumpled beneath him.

John tried to scramble to his feet. He'd made a serious miscalculation. Instead of going after the real killer, he'd gone after an innocent. There was no way of overpowering the demon, but he had to do something.

When John finally managed to stand without falling over, he rushed forward and grabbed the flask as he ran. Most of the water had drained from the flask and John hoped that there was enough left to at least deter the demon. He dived and aimed for the demon's face. Luck and good aim were on his side tonight. Water splashed the demon in his eyes. It screamed its rage and moments later, the possessed man flung his head back and a cloud of black smoke shot up into the sky. The released man fell back, seemingly dead.

John collapsed to the ground, out of breath. When he'd finally caught his wind, he sat up to find the man in the trench coat kneeling to check the other man's pulse. He shook his head and looked over at John, saying.

"The poor bugger was dead long before this."

John looked up at the dark sky, expecting to see the demon cloud hovering overhead, but it was silent and remained clear.

"By the by," the man said, putting a cigarette to his lips and lighting it with a match. "Name's Constantine, John Constantine." He held out his hand.

John stood up, brushing his dirty hands on his pants. "Winchester, John Winchester."

He walked forward, cringing as pain from his left leg shot up his body, but John didn't let the pain stop him. He reached for the hand Constantine offered and helped the man to his feet. Constantine had a cut lip that had already started to swell and there was a trickle of blood on his chin. John watched as a droplet of blood splashed on the collar of the beige trench coat. They stood in silence as Constantine puffed away at his smoke. John nervously scratched at the scruff of his beard as he took in the man before him. This man seemed to know about John's other world. He obviously knew about demons and demon possession and it didn't seem to faze him one bit. This close, John noted that Constantine had intense blue eyes and short spiky white blond hair. He was as tall as John and appeared to be about the same age. Constantine's suit and tie seemed barely rumpled, considering they'd just tangled with a demon. Even as John scrutinized Constantine, he realized that the other man was also sizing John up.

Constantine flicked his cigarette butt to the concrete and mashed it under foot with a slow, precise movement. When he looked up at John, he smiled and tucked his hands in his coat pockets.

"So you're a hunter," John said as more of a statement than a question, tucking his own hands in his coat pockets.

"Oh bloody hell," Constantine said. "Not hardly." When he didn't volunteer more information, John shrugged his shoulders.

"Then what," John said, "Some passerby who just happened to stumble into a bad situation? You're a little far from home, aren't you?"

"Guess again," Constantine said.

John chuckled. "Well then," he turned from the man and started heading for his car. He'd left it parked in the bar parking lot, and since the boys were waiting, he needed to get moving. Though he was curious about this man and where he'd come from, John wasn't in the mood for games.

"I'm sure we'll meet again," Constantine called out as John walked away. John waved at the mystery man without looking back.

 

November 2nd 1993

A scream filled the air. John Winchester ran toward it with his shotgun drawn. He tore across the parking lot as fast as he could. By the time he reached the edge of the woods the screams had faded, but John was still sure what direction to take. It was getting dark fast and he needed to hurry. He rushed headlong into the woods and stopped when a figure stepped in his path impatient with the delay.

"You're a bit late to the party, mate," the person in the shadows said. He stepped forward until he stood in a pool of light. John Constantine lit a cigarette and tossed the spent match to the ground. He was dressed the same as the first time they'd met. The beige trench coat even looked like the same coat, though maybe a bit worse for wear. His black suit and tie were rumpled as if from a struggle, and his tie wasn't quite straight.

John Winchester swung his gun to rest it on his shoulder.

"You son of a bitch," he said with a smile and chuckle. John rushed forward and smacked Constantine on his back, sending the man stumbling.

"Great to see you too," Constantine said as he turned back to the woods and motioned for John to follow.

They trekked through the forest for a few hundred feet before coming to a clearing. Constantine looked taken aback, at first as he seemed to search for something that wasn't there.

"It was right here," Constantine said, pointing at the ground. A scream from overhead tore the air and John fell to the ground as something heavy hit him from above. The weight crushed him to the ground, knocking his shotgun from his hand and sending it flying across the clearing. John struggled ferociously with the thing that had him pinned. Then, just as suddenly, the weight was gone and John rolled onto this back, scrambling to his feet. His limbs felt like lead weights as he struggled to stand. He caught a glimpse of the thing. It was something large and hairy and it tore out of the clearing too fast for John to get a good look.

"What the hell was that," John asked as he rushed to get his shotgun. Constantine handed him a stick that looked useless.

"This is the only thing that can kill it," Constantine said. John stared down at the white, foot-long, three-inch-thick, normal-looking piece of wood. It looked like nothing more than a branch someone had snapped off a tree, only with its bark missing. John stared down at the thing.

"You're kidding, right?" John said, looking back up at Constantine. The man stepped back from John and turned just as the creature rushed at them from the darkness of the forest. John instinctively raised the hand holding the stick and stabbed out at the thing, which was barreling toward them at a breakneck speed. He missed and the creature rushed past them to vanish once again into the woods.

"You almost had it," Constantine said. He pulled a candy wrapper from his coat pocket and popped a bit of chocolate into his mouth as he took two steps from John. Then to John's amazement, Constantine dropped the wrapper on the ground.

"I almost had it?" John said, incredulous at the man's behavior. "What about..." John didn't get to finish his thought as Constantine spun him around. The creature slashed out at John. Two sharp claws ripped a hole in John's jacket just above his heart, and then it was gone again.

"Look alive, squire," Constantine said, jumping forward. He stumbled and fell against John, pinning him against a tree trunk. John didn't hesitate this time. He stabbed out and hit something solid. A scream like nothing he'd ever heard filled the air. John released the stake and heard something hit the ground, and then all was silent. He could hear birds chirping and suddenly realized that there hadn't been any animal noises just a few minutes ago. He made that discovery at about the same time that he realized he'd put his arm around Constantine when they'd fallen against the tree.

"You can let me go now," Constantine said with a twinkle in his eye. John pushed him away and looked down to find nothing but grass and moss on the ground where he swore he'd heard whatever he'd stabbed fall. He looked all around the area, but couldn't see anything except a candy wrapper. Whatever they'd just tangled with had been bent on attacking, but it went wild when Constantine had thrown the wrapper.

"What was that candy wrapper about?" John asked as he turned to face Constantine. He was convinced that he wouldn't find whatever he'd just killed. Maybe he hadn't killed it at all. Maybe the thing had skulked back into the woods when they weren't looking. It was fast and, after all, John had barely seen it move to begin with. He'd probably just injured the thing and it had dragged itself away faster than they could see.

"Sprites hate litterbugs," Constantine said with a smirk.

"What?" John said, completely taken aback. "Sprites? What the hell is a sprite?"

"A wee forest critter," Constantine said, bending to pick up the wrapper. He stood up straight and put the wrapper in his pocket.

"Wee," John said. "That's ridiculous."

"Wee," Constantine said, holding his hand up with his thumb and index finger as far apart as they could be.

"No way," John said, shaking his head. He'd seen a large shape. He was sure of that. There was no way that this thing had been tiny. He looked on the forest floor again but still saw nothing. "Where did it go?"

"It's still there," Constantine insisted. He stepped past John and smiled. "You just can't see it. Don't feel badly that you were fooled. That's what they do. They trick you into believing they're bigger than they are and, before you know it, you're done for."

"Well, glad I could help," John said. "Why couldn't you catch the thing?" He retrieved his shotgun from where it had fallen, hoisting it over his shoulder.

They started heading out of the woods and Constantine stopped abruptly and placed a hand on John's chest.

"Because you've got better reflexes than me," he said with more sincerity than John was sure he meant. He must have had a look of disbelief on his face because Constantine was nodding. "You do." He turned back to the path and John followed him out of the woods. When they reached the paved parking lot, John half expected Constantine to walk away without a word, but the man stood beside him, staring out at the darkened night. There was only one streetlamp in the lot and it barely did the job of lighting the place.

"Seriously," John said, unable to help himself. "A sprite?"

Constantine nodded and pulled a cigarette out of his pack, lighting it despite the gust of wind that was building around them. "Could you be a love and give a bloke a lift?" Constantine asked after a few drags from his cigarette.

John nodded. "Sure, where are you headed?"

"Wherever you are, I suppose."

The motel John had rented before going out to the woods was just a few miles down the road. He'd left the boys at another motel with Dean in charge, because he'd been unsure what the mission would entail. Dean had been anxious to go with John but, with no clue of what he'd be up against. John felt it was safer to leave the boys out of it. Considering what or who John had run into, his instincts had served him well.

He parked the car in front of the room and got out, Constantine following. The room was dark with just the bathroom light on. It had only one bed and John's small duffel bag sat in the closet that was really just an indentation in the wall with a bar and those wooden hangers that can't be removed. Constantine closed the door behind him and smiled when he saw the ashtray on the small table.

John walked over to the duffel, bending to pull out the bottle of scotch he had stashed inside. He never drank around the boys, but sometimes he just needed it. He'd thought he could finish the hunt and be back with Sam and Dean before midnight, but there was no way he could look his boys in the eyes. Not that night he couldn't, considering the date. He'd known deep down inside what the real reason for leaving the boys alone and going out on a hunt had been. John could barely handle what day it was, let alone deal with how his boys would be feeling. Maybe Sammy wouldn't ask the same questions he did every year. Maybe Dean would forget what day it was, but John didn't think so. Dean never forgot and Sammy always looked so sad.

Constantine unwrapped two plastic cups and set them down on the table. He sat in one of the two chairs and held his hand out. John handed him the bottle and sat down across from him with a heavy sigh.

"I wasn't expecting company," John said, leaning forward and rubbing his face with his hands. He suddenly felt tired. "But you're welcome to stay here with me."

"That sounds like a proposal," Constantine said, unscrewing the cap of the bottle. He grinned and poured a generous amount into each cup. John reached for the one closest to him and raised the cup as if to make a toast. He gulped down the liquor before he could change his mind.

Constantine smirked and lifted his glass at John. "Cheers, mate." He drank it in one gulp and set the cup down, and then stood to remove his trench coat. While Constantine hung his coat in the closet, John poured them each another drink. He handed Constantine his cup and took a gulp from his own then sprawled back in his chair with his legs spread wide, his boots planted firmly on the wooden floor.

"Cheers," John said. He watched as Constantine removed his suit jacket, loosened his tie, lit a cigarette, and then carefully set his lighter down on the table. Was it a proposal? John examined Constantine's body. He was an attractive man and John couldn't deny that he'd felt something earlier back in the woods. He barely knew this man, and yet here they were together in a strange motel, his sons just miles down the road. Something about this just felt right and John couldn't explain exactly what that was, not even at gunpoint. Just a few days ago, Bobby Singer had been telling him that he was too serious. He'd slipped a condom and KY in John's duffel and told John to get laid. This probably wasn't what Bobby had meant.

"So, where are you from, John Constantine?" John asked as he took another gulp of his drink.

"Here and there, but if you mean," Constantine paused to take a drag from his smoke and flick ashes in the tray, "where was I born, that would be Liverpool." He leaned back in his chair after offering the information and smoothed his tie with his free hand.

"You mean that place where the Beatles are from?" John said, finishing his drink and poring more in both cups. He gulped it down in one shot and set the cup down with a flourish. The bottle was already half empty. If he was going to do this, John would need plenty of liquid courage.

Constantine nodded and picked his cup up to place it to his lips, and then tilted his head back. John couldn't help but watch as the man bared his pale slim throat as though in invitation. When Constantine finished his drink, he smiled at John.

"So, was it a proposal?" he said with a hint of mischief in his blue eyes. He winked and his expression turned from a hint to brazen flirtation.

John leaned back, knocking his head against the wall as he chuckled. He thumbed the wedding band on his left hand and noted Constantine's gaze.

"You're married?" Constantine said, narrowing his eyes.

"Not anymore." John stood and rushed at the man, overcome with frustration. He yanked Constantine to his feet and mashed their mouths together. He hadn't been with a woman since Mary. There was no way he could, and especially not tonight. It would have been like cheating in his mind, but this he could do. This he could have just for one moment in a place no one else knew about. In a place no one ever need know about and with a man.

Constantine didn't resist. He kissed back hard and reached up to yank on John's hair, forcing John to tilt his head. When he opened his mouth, Constantine plunged his wet tongue inside. He pushed John to the bed, stripping his flannel shirt off and letting it fall to the floor. They fell on the bed together, struggling with clothing, and John pulled the tie from Constantine's neck. He threw it aside and moved on to the shirt, pulling at the buttons until they slid free of their holes. John had Constantine pinned beneath him. His face was rough with two-day beard, and he rubbed the scratchy stubble growth across Constantine's bare chest. There were no breasts, just pale smooth skin as far as the eye could see.

Constantine ran his fingers through John's hair and pulled his head back to lean forward and kiss him hard on the mouth again. He bit down on John's bottom lip.

"You like it dirty, do you?" John growled with a husky voice. He bit back and relaxed against the length of Constantine's body. He could feel the other man's hardness pressed against his thigh. John reached down and squeezed the thick length through Constantine's pants and rubbed him a few times. Constantine pressed against the bed, arching his back with a moan deep in his throat.

The tingle of the alcohol coursed through John, and he relished the feeling of freedom. He shoved one knee up and spread Constantine's legs apart and pinned his arms above his head as he buried his face against Constantine's throat. John bit down hard like a vampire, the thought and action making his cock jump in his pants. He rubbed up against Constantine's pliant body, kissing down his throat to his chest. He made his way down to lick around the man's bellybutton, while undoing Constantine's pants. John pulled the pants and briefs down until the long thick cock bobbed out. Without thinking about what he was about to do, John sucked the head into his mouth. He gripped the base, petting the coarse, blond pubic hair. He'd never touched another man like this. It was invigorating. John closed his eyes and sucked the length in deeper until he gagged. He pulled back, and then stroked the length with his hand. When he opened his eyes, he saw that Constantine was not watching him. He had his head thrown back and his eyes closed and his legs spread as far as the clothing would allow.

John removed the pants and briefs and gripped Constantine's knees to spread his legs apart. He wrapped his lips around the cock again and sucked gently at first, moving up and down the length, taking his cues from Constantine's reactions. When he accidentally scraped teeth on the tender skin, Constantine complained with a yelp. John licked the soft underside, tongued the thick vein, and popped the length back in his mouth. He sucked and licked his way up until he reached the sensitized head. John sucked him in, tasting precome. Constantine jerked his hips, thrusting himself in deeper. He pulsed in John's hand, and come shot on his tongue. John pulled back, startled at the suddenness, but he continued to stroke Constantine through his orgasm.

They kissed once on the lips and undressed slowly. John stood and brought the half empty bottle and two cups along with the cigarette pack and lighter over to the bedside, then filling each plastic cup. While Constantine downed his drink in one gulp and smacked his lips with a sigh, a sated smile on his face. John went to his duffel and found the condom and KY. Constantine rolled onto his front and tucked an arm under his head, resting his golden crown of hair against his arm. John noticed that his blond hair was longer this time than the first time they'd met. With his other hand, Constantine pulled a cigarette out of the pack and lit it, taking a long drag.

Turning out all but the bathroom light, John returned to the bed and lay down on his side, propping himself up on his left arm, Constantine's pale, slender back within reach. John stroked the smooth skin lazily with the back of one hand as he sipped from his plastic cup. He was still semi-hard and itching to satisfy his sexual appetite. His cock brushed against the curve of Constantine's pale ass cheek, leaving a wet dab of pre-come in its wake. Setting his cup aside, John placed a wet kiss on Constantine's shoulder. He cupped one cheek in his hand and squeezed. For a man, Constantine had an amazingly round plump ass. John pressed a finger against the tattoo on the right cheek.

"What's this supposed to be?" he asked as he stroked the mark with his thumb.

"A joke," Constantine whispered. He put out the cigarette and stretched, tightening the muscles of his ass and legs. John took the moment to caress them, roughly. He liked the feel of the smooth curves that were nothing like those of a woman. Touching the curve that led to Constantine's crack sent a thrill through John that made his balls tighten and his cock jump.

"It looks more like a tree," John replied. He placed a few more kisses across Constantine's back and shoulders, adding a few experimental licks. His warm skin tasted of sweat with a hint of smoke, and John found if he continued to lick he could eliminate any taste. He lifted his head and licked his lips a few times. He slid his finger along Constantine's ass crack until he could feel the soft down of pubic hairs. John's breath grew heavy and he suddenly felt self-conscious, which was ridiculous because he was in a bed naked with a guy whose dick he'd just sucked.

"Either fuck me or stop the bloody tease," Constantine suddenly said as he spread his legs wider, allowing for easier access.

"Right," John said, suddenly feeling embarrassed. He pressed his body against the length of Constantine's body and kissed his back as he reached behind himself to pick up the condom and KY he'd placed there earlier. John grew harder with anticipation. He tore open the lube and squeezed some out onto two fingers, tossing the foil behind him. The liquid was cool and thick and when he placed his fingers on Constantine's ass crack, Constantine hissed a sharp intake of breath. There was no other way to do this and John felt a surge of bravado. He pressed his lubed finger against the hole. John was surprised at the heat he felt there and when he pushed, he was amazed at how smooth the skin was. He bit back the words he wanted to speak. Words felt wrong here. What would he say anyways? He pushed harder, and his finger slid in deeper past a tight ring of muscles. He was so tight and, John was sure he'd never get his dick inside.

"It's about time," Constantine said, bucking his ass up in the air. John pushed his finger in a few more times and then pulled out. He was so hard, he thought he'd explode. He tore the condom open and slipped it on his cock, moving over Constantine to a better position so he could press the head of his cock to that lubed hole. Anxious, John pushed in. It was so tight and so warm and John wanted to pusher harder, but he forced himself to take it easy, because he'd never done this before and he had no idea what he was doing. He didn't want to hurt Constantine. This was supposed to be good for the both of them. Constantine was bucking up more now, pushing his ass at John and John was sliding in deeper and it was tighter than he'd ever dreamed and nothing like what he'd imagined. He was going to come right that second, even before he had a chance to really fuck Constantine, but John somehow managed to hold off. He braced himself with his arms and slowly slid in and out of Constantine, afraid he'd slide right out if he wasn't careful. He wasn't going to let that happen. This felt too fucking good and when Constantine clenched around John's cock, John resisted the urge to cry out. He managed to get a rhythm going and each time his cock was buried to the root inside Constantine's tight heat, John moaned. He buried his face in the crook of Constantine's shoulder and moved his hips, clenching his ass with each push. Every muscle was straining and it was supposed to be relaxing him, but John was tense and his arm muscles were bulging with the strain of holding himself above Constantine as he fucked him against the mattress. And it felt so good, and John lost himself in the moment, relishing every thrust and every moan.

When John came, he bit his lip and muttered expletives under his breath. He opened his eyes wide and stared at the blond head beneath him, hardly believing what he'd just done. He rode his orgasm out, panting, completely spent and out of breath. His body was soaked in sweat, and his mouth felt dry and he licked his lips several times.

When he could think straight again, John shifting to his side, and removed the filled condom, tossing it in the trash basket by the bed. Constantine rolled over onto his back and lit another cigarette. Suddenly, John wanted to be clean, he needed a towel. The light from the bathroom shone brightly enough for him to see the deep blue of Constantine's eyes as he stared back at John. There must have been something in his expression of what he was feeling because Constantine reached up and caressed John's cheek.

"It's all good, mate," Constantine said, offering John the cigarette. John took a drag as Constantine held the filter end to his lips.

They lay in silence, the only sound in the room the sound of the cigarette end burning with each drag. It seemed to grow louder as the seconds passed. John should have gotten up. His skin had cooled, and he felt damp and uncomfortable. When he finally did get up, Constantine remained in the bed, chain-smoking.

When John returned to the bed with a damp towel, Constantine had butted out his latest smoke and pulled the white bed sheet up to cover his nude body. John slid in under the covers and set the towel down on the nightstand. When he turned to face Constantine, the man was watching him, his gaze on John's left hand as John thumbed the band.

"She was killed ten years ago today," John said. He wasn't telling Constantine because he thought he could trust the man, but he felt he at least owed him an explanation.

Present day

The information was burning a hole in his pocket. He'd felt the slip of paper he'd written the address on earlier when he'd searched for change for a meter. Now Sam stood outside the bakery Bobby had told him about just a few days ago. The chances of finding what he was looking for were slim to none. He'd gotten sidetracked when he'd met John Constantine. He was here with a virtual stranger who claimed to know their father, and had slept beside Sam just last night. He should have thought that it was insane, but then Sam had left sanity behind a long time ago. That particular address wasn't even on the Winchester map. Fate and a demon had seen to that.

"Why exactly are we in this town?" Constantine asked as he walked around the Impala. They were parked in front of the bakery in a town called Blazeville, a place so small, it wasn't even on any of the maps. The sign outside the town limits had no population number listed. Sam was wondering if he'd written the name down wrong. He checked his slip of paper again and thought about calling Bobby, but he wasn't in the mood to talk to the man just now. He was in the mood to find Lilith and this location was where Bobby had said there'd been some activity. He leaned against the car and sighed. He had no clue what to do next.

"I don't know," Sam said with a shrug of his shoulders. "I just thought we could get something to eat and you could use a smoke." Constantine lit a cigarette right on cue. Sam smirked and took a look around the town. It was quiet for that time in the afternoon. He would have thought there would be at least a few people walking the streets, but they hadn't seen anyone yet.

"Right, now tell me the real reason we stopped in this place," Constantine said after a long pause.

"Bobby said there was a possible demon sighting here," Sam said, scratching his nose.

"Right then," Constantine said with a nod. "We should probably be on our merry way."

Sam stood and glared down at the man for a moment before walking to the back end of the car.

"You can leave any time you want," Sam said as he unlocked and opened the trunk.

Constantine tossed his finished cigarette on the ground and walked to Sam's side with a sigh.

"No, I can't," he muttered. He muttered something else that Sam didn't quite catch and chose to ignore. It was probably something rude in British talk that Sam wouldn't get anyway.

Sam tossed a small hex bag to Constantine who caught it against his chest. He stuffed it in his pocket without asking what it was. Sam took a few vials of holy water from the stash, noting he would have to get more soon, and handed one to Constantine. He put one in his own pocket and then took out the demon knife. Maybe it wouldn't kill Lilith, but it didn't hurt to have as much ammunition as possible. He held it up to show Constantine, who took it and turned it over, scrutinizing the symbols on the blade.

Sam stood up straight and watched as the older man examined it as though he were an expert. "Can you read what that says?" Sam asked, curious at Constantine's reaction to the knife. Constantine stroked his chin and held the knife up, closing one eye as he continued to study the blade. He turned it over again several times, looking at it from a few angles.

"Hm, yes," Constantine said, handing the knife over to Sam. "It says 'pointy end up'."

Sam snatched the knife from Constantine's hand and sneered.

"Ha, ha, very funny," Sam said as he slotted the knife inside a sheath. He then tucked the sheath in the waistband of his jeans at the small of his back.

The jangle of a bell caught Sam's attention and, when he turned to look in the direction of the sound, he saw that there was a man running out of the bakery. He looked terrified and almost ran into Sam, and then he let out a scream and turned to run away from them. He was half-way down the street before Sam thought that they should probably go after him.

Sam tore after the man with Constantine shouting after him to stop.

"Hold on," Sam called out when the wide-eyed terrified man disappeared around the corner of a building in the distance. "I'm not going to hurt you."

The man was obviously too afraid to stop and listen to reason. Sam turned back to find that Constantine had disappeared.

"Great," he muttered. Sam rushed after the fleeing man and, when he rounded the corner, he found Constantine and the man in a struggle. The man, who Sam now realized was just a teenager, was babbling something Sam couldn't understand. He rushed forward and grabbed the boy by the shoulders, trying to calm him down. The boy lashed out and managed a lucky punch across Sam's jaw. Sam staggered back more from the surprise than the actual blow, rubbing at his chin as Constantine tried to calm the boy down enough to get him to speak coherently.

"Hey, settle down," Constantine said, pinning the boy's arms behind his back. The boy struggled for a few more seconds, then seemed to give up and went limp in Constantine's grip.

"Take me, just make it fast," the boy said with tears in his eyes.

Sam stepped forward and held his hands up to show he was unarmed. He held out the vial of holy water just in case the guy was faking.

"I swear, we're not going to hurt you," Sam said in his most soothing voice. "We just want to know what happened here and where everybody went."

The boy broke down into tears, sobbing. "My girlfriend Massie killed almost everyone in the town," he managed between sobs. "Everything was fine. We were on a date and she said she had to go to the bathroom and when she came back, she...."

"What's your name, son?" Constantine asked. He released his grip on the boy, who leaned against him for support.

"Derek," he said.

"Now try to tell us exactly what happened," Sam said.

Derek took a few deep breaths. Sam noticed that he had a few bruises on his left cheek and jaw. He also had a cut above his left eye. Sam flinched in sympathy.

"Massie went nuts. She started killing everybody we ran into, but told me she would spare me," Derek said. His eyes filled with tears. "She even killed my...." He broke down and couldn't continue.

"Where's the sheriff's office?" Sam asked.

"It's burned up," Derek managed to say. "She killed Sheriff Winters and all his deputies."

"Where is this little Massie now?" Constantine asked.

Derek pointed back in the direction of the main street where Sam had parked the Impala.

"She's in the bakery."

"Derek," Sam said, taking him by the arm and turning him away from where they'd come from. "I want you to run to the outer limits of town and don't stop to talk to anyone, even if they're someone you know. Do you understand?"

Derek stared up at Sam, wide-eyed and in obvious shock. Who knew what he'd seen? Sam couldn't be sure, but he had a good idea that this was Lilith's doing. Once Derek was a few hundred feet from them and seemed steady enough on his feet, they headed for the bakery.

When they entered the bakery, they found one teenage girl behind the counter. She was young, no more than sixteen at most, with long straight blond hair that she wore in a pony tail. Constantine remained close to the door as Sam approached the counter.

"Can I help you?" the girl said. She was short and had to look up to make eye contact with Sam. Sam glanced briefly at the baked goods, noting they sold five different kinds of pie.

"We're looking for some information," Sam said. He glanced back at Constantine who wasn't even paying attention to them. Sam noticed that the glass, which had been dark from the outside, showed a clear view of the street. He could see the Impala parked just outside, although his view was tinted, so the glass must have been one-way.

"What kind?" she asked.

Leaving his position by the door, Constantine approached the counter and examined the girl. He tilted his head and leaned left. He seemed to be looking past the demon-possessed girl at the half-open door behind her. Sam barely blinked when he spotted the legs in the room behind the waitress. Was that blood under them? Sam nodded at the name tag on the girl's blue shirt that said Massie. Constantine suddenly pulled his vial of holy water from his pocket and splashed the girl across the face. Smoke started to rise from her skin where the holy water had landed.

"That was so mean," she said.

"Not Massie then," Constantine said. Sam jumped back and pulled the knife from its sheath.

The girl straightened, pouting. "How did you find me, Sammy?" she asked. Her eyes milked over and flashed white for a brief moment.

"Lilith," Sam said. It was her, just as Sam had suspected. His heart raced and his palms started to sweat.

She turned her attention to Constantine who barely twitched a muscle as she scrutinized him.

"You're rather sloppy, Lilith," Constantine said. "We ran into your boyfriend just outside. Not to mention the trail of dead bodies you've left all over town. This place reeks of your demon filth."

Lilith walked out from behind the counter and circled around Constantine, eying him like a cat eyes a mouse. Sam felt every muscle in his body tense.

"You brought me a new toy, Sammy," she purred. Constantine didn't even flinch. He stood silent as she reached up. Her hand hovered just over Constantine's lips. "He's kind of old, but he's cute." She crinkled her nose, and Sam sneered, ready to spring at any moment.

"Don't you touch him," Sam threatened. They should have been better prepared and he shouldn't have brought Constantine with him. Lilith couldn't kill Sam, but she sure as hell could kill Constantine. The guy didn't deserve what was going to happen. He'd stumbled into a bad situation that was about to get so much worse. "He's not a part of this."

Lilith suddenly rushed over to Sam, stopping just in front of the knife. She grinned down at the blade and tsked. "You brought him here. He's a part of this now." Her voice went from sweet to angry in a split second. She leaned closer to Sam, who glared down at her. The strike of a match snapped Sam out of his stare-down.

Sam and Lilith looked over to find Constantine puffing on a cigarette.

"She's right. I am a part of this," Constantine said, nonchalantly. Sam was irked by the man's ability to be so casual in the face of danger, but maybe that was because Sam hadn't had a chance to tell Constantine just how big a threat Lilith was. He should have. There'd been plenty of opportunities. Sam was going to get his father's friend killed, and it was his fault, just like Dean had been his fault.

Lilith was obviously outraged at Constantine's lack of fear. She lunged forward and grabbed at Constantine's hand but, he somehow managed to dodge her. She stumbled and turned, just as shocked as Sam. He hadn't even seen Constantine move. How the hell had he done that? Sam watched as Constantine took another drag from his cigarette, eyeing the 'no smoking' sign. There was cocky and then there was downright foolish. Sam hadn't decided yet which category Constantine fell under.

"Lilith is it, then," Constantine said, "So then, get on with it. Kill me. I'm right here."

Lilith raised her hand. Panicked, Sam rushed forward to put himself between the demon and his new friend. He couldn't just let Constantine die. A bright white light filled the room and moments later it faded. Constantine was still standing just where he'd been. Sam moved to his side making sure the door was right at their back.

"What the hell?" Lilith screamed in outrage. "Are there two of you? How can there be two of you that I can't kill? I want to be able to kill you." To Sam's amazement, she stomped a foot on the floor then shrieked.

"You'll have to thank Nergal for that one, love," Constantine said. "Demon blood," he added as explanation, tapping his own chest.

There was a pause and Sam watched as the expression on Lilith's face changed from anger to surprise. Lilith's eyes went wide and she turned and ran back behind the counter, disappearing through the door to the back room. Sam started to rush after her but Constantine grabbed his arm.

"We have to go after her and save that poor girl," Sam shouted. Constantine flung his arm across Sam's chest and held him.

"You're probably right," Constantine said. Sam relaxed and pulled out of Constantine's grip.

Constantine was calmer than Sam felt he had a right to be. After all, Lilith had just tried to kill him and the man had practically invited her to do just that. How could he have known that Lilith wouldn't be able to touch him?

"You have demon blood in you." Sam barked. "Why didn't you tell me?"

Constantine backed away from Sam, who calmed himself even though he wanted to shake the man thoroughly for keeping something like this from him.

"It's not something I advertise," Constantine said. He grabbed Sam by the lapel of his jacket and pulled him out of the bakery. "We'd better get going. There's bound to be some law enforcement eventually and we don't want to be here when it arrives."

Sam didn't resist. Once they were out of the bakery, they got into the car and Sam drove them away. The streets were eerily silent as they drove out of town. There wasn't a person to be found, and that worried Sam. He couldn't imagine that Lilith had killed the whole town, but then maybe she had. She was without mercy or remorse.

November 1995

The man tied to the chair screamed again. John Winchester splashed him with holy water. Skin sizzled and smoked as the blessed liquid landed on the face that was turned up to the ceiling. The man's face was so twisted and contorted from the agony he was obviously feeling, that his expression couldn't even be called human.

"Screw you," he yelled at John. John walked around him, taking care not to step inside the devil's trap he'd spray painted on the wood floor beneath the man. John Constantine stood a few feet away, sucking on a smoke as he watched the odd tableau unfold before him.

"No thank you," John said as he screwed the cap back onto the flask of holy water. He tucked the small metal container in his back pocket and pulled out the pages he'd brought with him. An ancient incantation was written on the paper in Constantine's neat script.

"What's that," the demon-possessed man sneered. "Your grocery list?" He laughed like it was the funniest joke he'd ever heard.

John smirked and started to read the words out loud. The demon inside the trapped man stopped laughing.

"Exorcizamus te, omnis immundus spiritus, omnis satanica potestas, omnis incursio infernalis adversarii, omnis legio, omnis congregatio et secta diabolica..."

"That's right, you bloody tosser," Constantine said, flicking his extinguished butt across the room. They were in an abandoned motel off of Route 66. It had been a few years since John had last seen Constantine, and then earlier today he'd called asking for assistance. Somehow, Constantine had found the number of John's new cell phone, the new cell phone he'd just gotten only a few months before. John seriously needed to learn some of Constantine's tricks. He claimed it was magic, but John had never seen anyone use real magic as far as he knew. Maybe Constantine was telling the truth or maybe he was just spewing bullshit. John had yet to figure out which.

John continued to read aloud, enunciating the foreign words as carefully as possible. The man began to writhe on his chair. He screamed a few times, and then flung his head back. A pillar of black smoke shot out of his mouth and eyes toward the ceiling, vanishing when it hit the old plaster. John stopped the chant and stared in amazement at what he saw. Constantine had been right. He looked over at the man who stood a few feet away.

"Where did it go?"

"Back to Hell," Constantine said. "It might claw its way back up here, but that would take time."

John checked the man's pulse. He was dead. They were sure that this would be the case, but John had hoped.

"We should bury him," he said, suddenly feeling regretful. They may have banished the demon, but it hadn't been in time to save the poor soul the demon had ridden all these weeks. Constantine nodded and they untied the man. John carried the body outside while Constantine cleaned up any evidence that they'd been there. Digging the hole took awhile, and as John wrestled and strained with the wet dirt, Constantine chain-smoked in silence. John was sweating like a pig and he stripped down to his sleeveless t-shirt. When the hole was deep enough, John placed the body in the shallow grave and said a short prayer over his final resting place. He stared down in remorse at the poor guy who'd done nothing to deserve his horrible fate.

John tossed the shovel and gear in the trunk of the Impala. He felt dirty and not just because he was covered in filth. He needed a shower in the worst way. They got in the car and drove in silence. Constantine's intense gaze kept turning John's way. It was driving him nuts and he wanted to shout at the man. How the hell had he gotten himself in this mess? The man he'd just buried had been wearing a wedding ring. He probably had a family somewhere that they didn't know about and they were probably waiting for him to return home. There was nothing that could be done, so John had to put his growing guilt aside. They'd rid the world of a demon who had been terrorizing and killing people, and John reminded himself that hunting evil was what he had chosen to do.

He flinched when Constantine slipped his arm behind John's head, and ran his fingers through John's filthy hair.

"I'm dirty," John said.

"We'll get you cleaned up good and proper," Constantine replied. It was a few miles before they came across a motel. The vacancy sign was lit and John parked the car in front of the main office. The place looked like it had seen better days, but it was late and he desperately needed to get out of his dirty clothes. Once he booked a room, he parked right out front. There was only one other car that was parked at the other end of the lot.

John unlocked the door and dropped his duffel on the floor. Constantine walked in past him and flipped the light switch. The room looked like it had been decorated in the seventies and no one had ever bothered to update the look. The only light seemed to be a single hanging lamp shade above a round table in a far corner beside the bathroom door. A queen-sized bed was the largest piece of furniture in the room. John trudged over to the bathroom and flipped a switch. The bathroom consisted of a toilet, tub and sink with no countertop, and warm light bathed the dark red tiles. He barely grunted his intentions before entering and letting the door swing closed behind him. John leaned against the white porcelain sink and stared into the mirror on the wall. He looked like shit. He stripped off his dirty clothes and tossed them on the floor under the sink.

When John was naked he turned the water on, relieved to find that the showerhead let out a decent spray. He stepped in and yanked the yellow shower curtain closed. He leaned his head against the tiled wall right under the water and stood staring down at the dirt swirling down the drain as it washed away. Every muscle ached, his arms and shoulders felt like they were going to fall off. He jumped when the shower curtain was pushed aside and Constantine stepped in behind him.

John turned with his back to the hot water to pull Constantine close and kiss him hard on the mouth. Constantine reached up and ran his fingers through John's hair. They stayed like that for a long time, hot water sluicing over them as they kissed hungrily. When they pulled apart, John leaned his forehead against Constantine's shoulder and cried silent tears that washed away before they could fall. When it was over, they cleaned each other in silence. There was nothing sexual about it, though they were both semi-hard the whole time. When Constantine lathered soap on John's cock, John moaned and closed his eyes. He grew harder with each stroke and Constantine kissed him on the throat as he held them both in his hand and stroked them together. It wasn't long before John was overcome with his orgasm. He locked his knees to stop from falling to his knees. Once he'd stopped coming, John realized that Constantine was still hard. His cock stood up straight, and brushed against John's hip.

John lowered himself to his knees and sucked the length in. Constantine fell back against the tiled wall and braced himself with one hand as John sucked him off, water splashing in his eyes. Moments later, come splashed inside his mouth and John sucked harder until Constantine pushed him away. John fell back on his bare ass, laughing. He watched as Constantine collapsed and slid down the tiled wall of the bathtub. They barely fit in the tub. John pulled Constantine against his chest, and wrapped his arms around him.

They lay like that for a long time, water raining down on them.

"Could you do me a favor, John," John finally said. When Constantine didn't reply, John continued. "If you're ever in my neck of the woods, could you look out for my boys, Sam and Dean?"

"I can do that," Constantine said. After a long pause, he pulled himself up. John watched as Constantine rinsed off under the shower head. He glanced down at John and winked before pushing the shower curtain aside and stepping out of the tub.

John stood and rinsed off, noting his hands were wrinkled. The heavy calluses had gone white and puffy from the water. John stared at the skin lost in thought. When he snapped back to reality, he turned off the water and pushed the shower curtain aside. The white towel provided was barely large enough to cover him, so John didn't bother to hide his nudity. What was the point? Constantine had seen it all and he sure as hell wasn't ashamed. John couldn't help but smile as he reflected on what had just happened in the shower.

He walked out of the bathroom still lost in contemplation when he noticed that Constantine's things were gone.

So was the man.

Present day

Sam closed the door of the motel room and set the takeout down on the table. His laptop sat where he'd left it and John Constantine lay across the bed, his trench coat and suit jacket and tie tossed on a chair. He was reading something. Curious, Sam moved to see what had caught Constantine's attention. It was his father's journal.

"How did you find that?" Sam asked. He always kept it hidden just in case and it was one of the few things of his father's he still owned.

"Just checking to see if he wrote about me," Constantine said, handing the book back to him. Sam snatched it from Constantine and tucked it in his duffel under his clothes. Constantine sat up and took some of the food, unruffled by Sam's attitude. Sam sat down and grabbed some food as well. He was starved and, after what had happened with Lilith, he was tired and even more determined now to get his brother back.

"So you and my father," Sam said, trying to sound as casual as possible. "What kind of relationship did you have exactly?" He suspected that Constantine was probably one of his father's many sources. Sam just wasn't sure why their dad had never said anything to them about the man, since Constantine was obviously knowledgeable.

"We ran into each other a few times," Constantine said, finishing his food and tossing the trash in a waste paper basket. "And I taught him a thing or two about magic." Constantine leaned forward resting his elbows on his knees. He'd rolled his dress shirt sleeves up past his elbows and Sam could see pale hairs on his forearms.

"You hunted together?" Sam asked. He tossed his own garbage out and wiped his hands clean on a napkin.

"I wouldn't exactly say that."

"Then what would you say?" Sam said. "You talk about my dad as if ..."

"You mean fondly," Constantine said with a sigh. He stood and stretched. They'd gotten a smoking room this time. Since Constantine had been so good about not smoking in the car, Sam felt this was the least he could do. Constantine lit a smoke and took a long heavy drag from the cigarette.

"Okay, maybe that isn't the exact word I'd use," Sam said, sitting up straighter, his curiosity piqued.

"He was a good man, and I'm here fulfilling a promise I made to him," Constantine said, standing and pacing.

"So you can really help me get Dean out of Hell," Sam said. He was doubtful because of Constantine's lack of disclosure regarding how they would achieve that task. Sam had always assumed that Hell wasn't a place a person could just waltz into. Though Constantine had been fearless in the face of Lilith, the most dangerous demon Sam had ever fought, how could Constantine intervene? When the man didn't answer, Sam walked over and sat down on the bed.

"I'm going to do what I can, Samuel," Constantine said, rubbing at his brow. When Constantine had finished his cigarette, he sat back down on the bed beside Sam.

"How do we..." Sam started to say.

"We don't. I go, and you stay here. I need you to watch over me."

Sam nodded.

"I'll need something intimate that belonged to Dean," Constantine said.

"What, you mean like underwear or something like that," Sam said half-joking, and just a little freaked out by the prospect that they were talking about going to Hell on purpose.

"Not that kind of intimate," Constantine said with a snort. "It could be something he treasured or something that he always had on him while he was in the land of the living."

"Oh," Sam said, realizing that he knew what object should be used. He reached up and touched the necklace he had hidden under his shirt. Sam had not taken it off since that night when he and Bobby had buried Dean. He removed it now with reluctance and held it up for Constantine to see.

"Lovely," Constantine said, taking the necklace. He held it up and said some words under his breath that Sam didn't understand and then he moved his hands up then down then to the left and then right. Sam realized that Constantine was making the sign of the cross with the necklace. "I promise to bring this back in one piece, and hopefully its owner will be wearing it 'round his neck again soon." Constantine slid the necklace on and tucked it under his shirt, hiding it from view.

"What are you going to do?" Sam asked. His heart sped up and his mouth suddenly felt dry. It was actually going to happen. Constantine was going to get Dean back from Hell.

"First thing I need to do is suss out the lay of the land. Since I've no idea where in Hell..." Constantine paused with a smirk. "Pardon the pun. I need to know where to go. It's been awhile since I've done this, but I'm going out of body." He lay down on the bed and settled in with his hands folded on his chest. "Be back soon."

Sam was taken aback at how casual Constantine was being about all this. Was he seriously going to jump out of his body and into Hell just like that? Constantine must have thought that Sam was a fool. It had to be a joke. Sam stood and paced the room, watching Constantine closely. Nothing seemed to be happening. Constantine lay with his eyes close and his chest rising up and down as though he were asleep. Sam crushed the urge to grab the man and shake him until he stopped playing games.

*

He's pacing across the room. Frustrated. Constantine hates the situation as much as if not more than Sam, but he made a promise to a man he once called a friend. He's going to do it and he's going to do it as fast as possible.

He floats up, waves to his body and Sam. He follows the cord he knows is there. It's going to take years off Constantine, but he must do it. He wills himself not to think stray thoughts of wanting away. He wills himself to think only of his task at hand.

Dean Winchester. He's here. He can feel him. He can almost see him. Everything is burning around Constantine. It is Hell. Of course it's burning. That never changes.

Then Constantine is suddenly swept in a tide of pain. He reaches up and anchors himself by holding the necklace in his hand.

He's there, standing right beside him. Dean doesn't see him. His eyes are black pits. Constantine wants to scream, but he daren't because then they would come. The demon in charge, his name is on the tip of Constantine's tongue. He's right behind him, but the thing doesn't see Constantine because Constantine isn't really there. He's only an illusion, but he whispers a few ancient words under his breath. Dean's been in Hell for years already. Time there is different. Constantine hates that part more than anything, but at least his demons can't find him here. He's not thinking about those dead. They're someplace else and this place is far from them.

Dean turns to look right at Constantine, but he doesn't see him. Then it's too late, because the demon knows Constantine is there. Constantine screams when the thing grabs him by the throat. It lets him go and curses the demon blood in Constantine.

It is not for you to take.

Constantine turns to look and he knows he shouldn't, but the sounds behind him are haunting. He knows he'll hear them forever. Dean screams.

NO!

The demon demands. Constantine has only one option left. He reaches out for plan B. He didn't want to use that plan because he hates the thought of those bastards with their hooks in Dean, but he has no choice. If Constantine is right, then someone else, something else will save Dean, something more powerful than any being in the universe.

He puts his hand on Dean's left shoulder and says the words. Then suddenly he is wrenched away before he can tell Dean never to give in.

*

Constantine sat up, screaming. He held the necklace in his hand. At some point, he must have torn it from his neck.

"You're back," Sam said. He was sitting on the bed, holding Constantine by his shoulders.

"How long was I gone?" Constantine asked. His throat hurt and he felt like he'd been screaming for years. He was sure he'd only spent a few months in Hell, but time had a way of playing tricks down there.

"A few minutes," Sam said. He released his grip on Constantine when he saw that the man had finally calmed down. "You sat up a few minutes after you lay down, and ripped Dean's necklace off, then you started to scream."

"Bloody hell," Constantine croaked, rubbing at his throat. Sam stood and got a glass of ice water. He handed it to Constantine and sat back down beside him.

"Well," Sam said, trying to be patient, but having a hard time. He waited as Constantine sipped the cool water then gulped it down. He fell back on the bed and rubbed at his temples with one hand.

"Did it work?" Sam said. When Constantine didn't respond, Sam grabbed him by his shirt and pulled him up. Constantine grabbed hold of Sam's hands and tried to pry him off. Sam wrapped a hand around Constantine's throat and squeezed. The bastard had fucked with him. Bobby was right. Sam should have listened to him.

"He's there. He's bloody well there, but I can't get him out," Constantine gasped. Constantine struggled weakly in Sam's grip, but Sam wasn't going to let go. The guy had fucked with him and he was going to pay.

"What kind of relationship did you have with my father?" Sam shouted. He loosened his grip, but kept his hand around Constantine's throat. Constantine went slack in his grip, and stared up at Sam, wide-eyed with obvious terror. Sam was much stronger than Constantine and he knew it.

"What do you mean?" Constantine said with a flinch. "I already told you, we were occasional friends." Sam leaned over Constantine until they were chest-to-chest and nose-to-nose.

"I mean tell me the truth," Sam said through gritted teeth. "Bobby told me you're a con man and that I shouldn't trust you. He said that you're nothing but a liar."

"I told you. I taught your father a few things about demons and such," Constantine said. "And we may have fallen into bed together a time or two."

Sam pulled back and frowned. He released Constantine and sat up straight, suddenly feeling deflated. Something caught his eye and when he looked down he saw Dean's necklace still in Constantine's hand. Sam reached down to take it back, and that was when he noticed something else. The palm of Constantine's hand was red as though burnt. Sam took the hand in his and lifted it up to get a better look. He ignored Constantine's cry of pain.

"What the hell is this?" Sam said, feeling his stomach churn from the smell of burnt flesh that suddenly hit his nostrils. Sam released Constantine's hand and stood.

"I touched him," Constantine said through clenched teeth. "I touched Dean. It was my plan B, only I'd never have done it if I'd known how much it would hurt." He stood, clutching his damaged hand to his chest, and walked to the bathroom. Sam moved past Constantine to flip the light switch and turn the cold water tap on. He forced Constantine's injured hand under the tap and held it there while Constantine leaned against him.

"What was plan B?" Sam asked as he watched the water run over the burned hand.

"Your brother was a righteous man," Constantine said.

END


End file.
